Turning Off the Dark
by Tileotosis
Summary: Expectations. Even before Harry was born, they were to weigh upon his shoulders. Expectations to be good, light, noble, brave… the expectation to defeat Voldemort. But when that first and final mission is completed, can Harry defy a set of newer, darker expectations?
1. Chapter 1

He was in a dark, musty cavern...

A pale face was illuminated in the darkness, a high mocking laugh accompanying it...

"So this is it, Harry. It's only you and I. No others to hide behind, no running away from it this time. Come and meet the end!" Voldemort cackled maniacally.

"So it is, Tommy-boy. The question is, whose end shall it be?" Harry retorted calmly. He had no emotions to distract him at this time of peril, just a sensation of cold, empty darkness where his heart should have been. His wand flickered out of his sleeve, lighting all the torches on the walls -illuminating whites faces... red hair... His friends, all cold and dead. Harry suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. Ah, so this was his plan...

Voldemort's face twisted in hatred. "Little boy..." he whispered, and with a great fury, he uttered a dark incantation. All the dead bodies stood up. "Attack him," he ordered his army of inferi coldly.

They lurched towards Harry, and suddenly that cold, empty void was filled with pain, hot, unbearable, aching, unwanted pain. His heart split in pain as he decapitated Hermione's corpse. It cried as he burned Ron's pale face. Harry was tormented, tortured as he was forced to destroy his dead friends, until only Ginny was left. Harry stared at her, and then burned his love until all that remained were ashes. His heart split in two.

Harry's breath came in pants, fogging the cold air. His burning pain quickly cooled to a cold fury as he remembered who had done all this.

Harry turned to Voldemort. "So now we know who was really hiding this whole time," he said shakily. Harry smiled with no emotion. His voice steadied. "Why? Why do you hide, Tom? Is it because you're afraid of dying? Or is it because you are afraid of the truth? Why did you turn so dark, Tom?"

"For power!" Voldemort hissed angrily. "Why else?"

"Perhaps because you were afraid of being common? No different than anybody else? Ordinary? You aren't ordinary, Tom, but you aren't special. You might've been, should've been, but now you aren't," Harry continued, his voice calm and collected. "Face it, Tom. You are just like every other Dark Lord that has risen. Madder, perhaps, more feared, perhaps, but not any different."

Voldemort screamed in fury. And as he was screaming, Harry leapt forward and stabbed a dagger into his chest.

Voldemort's eyes opened wide in surprise. An aura of golden light haloed around the wound, growing brighter, until it consumed him completely. As Harry stood there, blood dripping from his dagger, the portal grew ever bigger- until it sucked Harry, too, into it's hungry core. It only took a second for it to swallow the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Voldemort's Bane. It took only a second for him to completely disappear.

It was as if Harry had never been there.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowds of people rushed past buildings, bustling this way and that, fighting through the mob to get to their destination. The epitome of a normal day in muggle London. But look deeper, further into a darker part of the city. You see dark alleys, deep shadows. Whispers and plots, double dealing. The backstreets of London.

In a deserted alley (quite uncommon, usually there was some riff raff hanging about), a golden shower flashed

into existence and from the black pit in the center, a young man burst out . He stumbled, holding a dagger in one hand.

The dagger was coated with blood. Thick, black blood.

* * *

Moments later, a young man stepped out of the alley. His long, leather coat flapping in the breeze, he strode away from the alley. Wrinkling his nose as he recognized where he was, he frowned.

Okay, Harry thought, Right. So I randomly teleport to muggle London, and I just have to show up in the most dangerous part of town. Great.

Harry shook his head. By rough estimate, he figured by following this path and turning left, he would probably be headed towards the Leaky Cauldron, wizard London to see what was going on…As he pondered this, he was approached by one of the thieves that war common in the part of town that he was passing through. Bumping into him and stealthily slipping his hand into Harry's jacket, the thief was outed when he stumbled on the rough cobbles of the street.

Caught by surprise, the thief tried to slink away - and, without looking down, Harry's hand shot out to seize the other man's wrist.

The thief looked up, startled. When he saw Harry's face, his face tightened with surprise. "James?" he whispered hoarsely.

For the first time, Harry looked down. "Dung?" he questioned. There was no surety of exactly who it was under all the grime.

Mundungus face plainly showed perplexity on it. "James, what're you doing here?"

"James?" Harry asked, puzzled. "It's Harry, Dung. Are you alright?"

Mundungus scowled. "Okay, James, you've caught me. Stop playing games."

Harry opened his mouth, confused.

A loud bang echoed throughout the night.

Harry's face twisted. He seized the front of Mundungus robes. "Who are you really, imposter?"

The other man's face clearly showed confusion. The it cleared, his eyes sharpening with suspicion. "You aren't James!"

A wand jabbed Harry's back. He spun around, finding himself face to face with Antonin Dolohov. Harry growled.

"You!" he growled, images of Mrs. Weasley falling to a green curse rippling through his mind. He lunged for the other man, heedless of the other lights flashing in the air. "You should be dead. I killed you!" He shouted.

Dolohov whipped out his wand. " _Protego!"_ He yelled, blasting Harry back.

Harry got to his feet. "So that's the way you want to play it," he rumbled. "Alright then." Harry smiled, twin columns of flame appearing on both sides of him. They spun, hissing with heat, whirling towards Dolohov. Harry turned and ran. He disapparated with a pop midstep.

* * *

Dolohov and Mundungus apparated suddenly into Grimmauld Place, panting and gasping for breath.

"Oh dear, what's wrong? Is everyone alright?" A short, red haired woman asked, bustling from the kitchen table.

"No one dead, I hope," Molly Weasley said anxiously, wiping her hands on her dress.

Dolohov hauled Mundungus up, lunging towards the counter and slumping on a stool. With several more pops, other Order members apparated into the room, all in various states of disarray.

A red haired man gingerly sat down next to Dolohov. "Well," he said slowly, "That was an unusual battle."

"How so, Fabian?" Molly questioned, conjuring more chairs for the other Order members.

"It's Gideon, Molly. And as to your question, well, it started off normal enough. Death Eaters attack apparently helpless muggles, but we're already there, curses begin to fly- but strangely enough, it ended in a stalemate. All of the Death Eaters abruptly disapparated!"

"And if that isn't enough, they leave behind two strange pillars of fire that keep chasing Dolohov and Dung here, destroying everything in their path. We couldn't even hinder them - the only reason they stopped was because they evaporated on their own!" continued another, identical man.

"Really? Pray tell, Dolohov, Mundungus, do you happen to know why?" asked an old man - Dumbledore, striding into the room.

Dolohov shook his head several times to clear it. "Well. Ahem. It appears that there is a powerful new Death Eater in the ranks of Voldemort's followers," he paused.

"Go on then, Tony," cried a young, purple haired witch. The entire Order's attention was now fixated upon the conversation.

"When I came upon him, the first spell had just been fired, the battle only just begun. He had Dung by his robes and was clearly angry. I poked my wand into his back, not sure if he was a muggle or not. It grabbed his attention and turned his fury to me. It then was clear that he was a wizard. When he saw my face, he went into a fit of rage; apparently he knew me from somewhere, or perhaps I looked like someone he knew-and obviously disliked. He did look rather familiar... The man bellowed out something about how I should be dead and lunged at me. When I cast a shield charm to protect myself, he was blasted back. He then stood up, conjured the pillars and disapparated." Antonin told the other members.

"What do you remember, Mundungus?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

"W-well, I was patrolling the area, ' cause I was supposed to, an' I thought to pick a little charm or two. I bumps into a man, but he had nothing in his pocket. So I try to scurry away real quick-like, but he seized me wrist. I looked up and 'lo and behold, it's bleedin' James!" Mundungus said quickly.

"What?" boomed a man from across the room, starting towards Mundungus.

"I mean, he looked a lot like him," Mundungus added, a little belatedly. "So I was sez that he'd caught me, now let go, but he seemed to recognize me too, an' was surprised to see me there. He said that he was 'Perry' or sumpthin' like that. He was alright until the first bang sounded. Then he asked who I really was and tried to strangle me." Mundungus finished thoughtfully.

The man from across the room sneered. "You'll have to excuse my skepticism. I have not heard of this Death Eater. Besides, these 'pillars of fire' would take an extraordinarily powerful wizard - someone possibly as strong as Dumbledore himself."

"Still, Severus, we must keep a lookout for this man, and possibly even alert the ministry to him," twinkled Dumbledore. "Mundungus, Dolohov, anything else you might have forgotten to mention?"

Mundungus paused for a moment. "Oh yeh, he did it all without a wand. Or incantation."

Cue strangled gasps.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry popped onto a couch. He hissed in anger and pain; the Shield Charm had broken one of his ribs when it slammed him into the brickwork of the little shop. " _Emendo!_ " he whisper-shouted. The rib snapped back into place.

Harry frowned in concentration. He wondered how the Death Eaters were still alive. Why would they use a Polyjuice potion to transform into Dung, of all people? The was no love lost between the man and him. They knew each other well enough, but would more easily classify as adversaries than as friends. He understood the reasoning for the disguise as Dolohov, the man who had ruthlessly killed Molly Weasley. They had hoped to trip Harry up.

A scuffling sound and a bang alerted Harry to the floo being used. His eyebrows drew together in surprise and more than a little bit of anger. Who could it be? None of the order members were alive, and if it was someone he didn't know, how dare they use Sirius' house?

He drew a small, shimmering piece of fabric out of his cloak. Harry gently placed it onto his hand. " _Engorgio_ ," he muttered, waving his wand over the square . The fabric expanded, turning into his trusty invisibility cloak. He slipped it on, glad that he had made it even bigger than usual; he was a too tall for it's usual size.

He padded softly down the hallway. The man who had just entered had his back to Harry. The man hung his traveling cloak on the large coat tree, and turned around, sighing.

Harry drew a breath. In anger. The man looked almost like an older, stiffer, square-jawed version of Sirius. Who was this? As far as he knew, Sirius had no close male blood relatives.

With another pop, a blonde-haired woman stepped out behind the man, confusing Harry further. The woman looked like a younger version of Walburga Black, Sirius's mother.

Throwing caution to the winds, he shrugged off his cloak and had his wand in the other man's back in a heartbeat.

The man jumped and the woman screamed. Harry ignored their antics. "Who are you?" he hissed, "And what are you doing in Sirius Black's house?"

The other man recovered quickly, cocking an eyebrow and covering up his surprise with a slight smirk. "Sirius Black has never owned this house, blood traitor that he is." He gave a slight, barely perceptible nod to the woman over Harry's shoulder, who then smashed a cheap vase on the desk.

Harry whirled around, keeping his wand trained on the other man, even as the woman began to shriek, "Help! Help us! My husband is being attacked by someone who has broken into our house and bypassed the wards!", sending a direct message to the Ministry.

Harry cursed. The Ministry was now involved -and they were bound to mess things up. He supposed that he could bind the infiltrators until the aurors arrived, and then hand them off.

He sighed, conjuring a rope that whipped angrily back and forth. What a long day.

* * *

"Help! Help us! My husband is being attacked by someone who has broken into our house and bypassed the wards!" The alarm was from the Black residence.

Alastor growled. The Blacks- they were purists, and strayed as close to the Dark Arts as possible without being discovered and sent to Azkaban. But they had no obvious clues to them being Death Eaters, and they… had connections. He sighed. He would have to rescue them from whatever everyday matter that ailed them.

"Aurors! You heard that! Dawlish, bring your squad! Best to corner the rogue then come unprepared!" He bellowed.

"12 Grimmauld Place," Alastor whispered as he stepped into the ministry fireplaces. The other fireplaces were a whirling cacophony of Aurors stepping in and out of fireplaces. He clenched his jaw tight as he was swept away. He never had liked the whirling, squeezing feeling that accompanied flooing.

In an instant, he was stepping into the Black residence. He fully expected it to be an over-reaction to some mundane matter. Making no effort to disguise his steps, he stomped loudly from the fireplace. Pausing to wait for the other Aurors, he was surprised to detect muffled thumps from the room down the hall- which he knew to be the living room. As the other aurors popped out, he turned to them and whispered, "Quiet down, you lot! There's something foul afoot."

"You don't say," drawled a smart-mouthed Auror trainee. "Here I was thinking that the Blacks called us over for a tea party, not because they were in any sort of trouble." But he shut up and slunk along with the rest of the wizards at one of Alastor's piercing glares that all-too-clearly communicated his disdain for wise-asses.

They slunk along the wall slowly and steadily, wary at the stifled noises that grew louder as they came closer. Alastor lead them to the edge of the wall, stopping just before the turn into the living room. "Wands out," he breathed to the other wizards. "Now!"

They leapt out into the room, ready to accost the the intruders. "Bombs away!" cried a foolish Auror, wreaking havoc on delicate operations with his overeagerness.

Curses flew. A few paintings fell down. The sofa was mutilated by many _Diffindo_ s. When the dust cleared, the bombardment of the ransacked room was immediately apparent. As were the dumbstruck expressions of the poor, trussed up souls tied to previously mentioned sofa.

Alastor slapped a hand to his forehead. In years to come, this came to be called a facepalm. With an expression of twisting fury, he turned to the cowering squad. "WHO-" he began. Then he took a deep breath, which effectively turned his complexion from purple to maroon.

"Who," he said with resigned anger, "said to fire on the Lord and Lady of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black?"


End file.
